Berlin.
In a dimly lit room, a woman stood motionless.
Velvet.
The leader of Team Anonymous.
Rare beauty, sharp features, and eyes now burning red—not from exhaustion, but rage. Her hands trembled as she stared at the darkened screens.
"Mr. Fool…" she whispered.
Then louder.
"Mr. Fool. Mr. Fool. Mr. Fool!"
Her voice cracked.
"He made a fool of me."
The room felt smaller with every breath she took.
"I will find you," she said, her tone dropping into something colder.
"And when I do—"
She didn't finish the sentence.
She didn't need to.
Back in Z City, PK's night was unremarkable.
He ate dinner at a small hotel, paid the bill, and returned to the dorm like any other student. When he entered the room, he coughed lightly and dropped his bag on the chair.
His roommates looked at him and shook their heads.
"Man," Rich said, "you missed something huge today."
They crowded around him, excited, talking over one another—about the finals, the blackout, Anonymous collapsing live on screen, and the sudden rise of Mr. Fool.
PK listened carefully.
He nodded.
He asked nothing.
He revealed nothing.
Behind his calm expression, he kept his smile hidden.
Hearing his friends admire a name that belonged to him—without knowing—made something warm settle in his chest.
Not pride.
Confirmation.
Later that night, PK lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling.
His phone vibrated.
A message.
Then another.
Two unknown numbers.
Identical—except for the last two digits.
…01
…02
Both messages were simple.
Hi
hi
PK stared at the screen.
He didn't reply.
Yet.
Outside, the world was beginning to reach for Mr. Fool.
And slowly—
The consequences were catching up.